


Bodyscapes

by ElDiablito_SF



Series: Penis PJ Verse [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Abuse of paint, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Epic fighting, Epic reconciliation, Everything they do is Epic, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, art kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: Sometimes trouble in paradise requires a creative resolution.





	Bodyscapes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vowelinthug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vowelinthug/gifts).



> Oh hai Gemma, this is me filling your "Do not. Tempt. Me." prompt ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Well you said you like this verse, so here you go: much more of it!

Something was off. First of all, the mattress he’d been lying on was definitely too new. It was firm but with a pillow top, so that it seemed to simultaneously support and cradle Flint’s aching body at once. Second, someone’s lips were gently but persistently trailing over the shaft of his cock, pressing a kiss here, a furtive lick there, sending jolts of desire skittering under his skin. Flint smiled and stretched.

“Morning, Highness,” he muttered, reaching his arm down towards his crotch and coming up with a handful of wild curls.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Silver whispered against his cock, his breath hot and heavy and making Flint harden instantly.

He attempted to move, but Silver’s arms were wrapped around both his thighs like two deadly pythons. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere until I’ve had my breakfast,” he purred resuming his ministrations in long, lazy licks.

Flint had been with lovers before who had completely objectified his cock. He supposed it was par for the course when you’re an art school ginger twink without anything to your name but miles worth of dick. But he was an adult now, and he’d carved a niche for himself, though it was rather esoteric, but his own. Regardless, he had pride, or what passed for pride anyways, and he was far too old to be treated the way Silver seemed insistent on treating him.

“You know, I’m more than just a fat cock,” he lodged this complaint into Silver’s ceiling.

Silver chuckled with his mouth full and let his lower teeth drag along the veins of the underside of Flint’s boner, making him shudder. “I know, baby,” Silver breathed against his leaking head, and just then, to what shouldn’t have been his surprise, but still was, Silver’s finger breached him and his mouth wrapped around his cock again, sucking him down like a voracious tornado.

***

Silver’s fucking shower had three shower heads and it took Flint roughly half an hour just to figure out what knob to turn to get the water to come out right. He was half angry at himself for turning down Silver’s salacious offer of showering with him. But he really didn’t need to embarrass himself in front of his young lover by not being able to perform like some circus monkey at the drop of a hat.

At last, he’d wrapped the towel around his waist and padded out into the unknown expanse of Silver’s ridiculous penthouse on Park Avenue. He did a double take as he walked out into the gallery walkway, leading out of the bedroom, as he passed by three of his own paintings. He must have been either too drunk or too horny to notice them the night before. They clashed with the rest of the decor, yet somehow worked in the spartan corridor with only the windows and glass balcony doors to mirror them.

He had walked out into what appeared to be the living room, currently also bereft of Silver. Without his presence, constantly chattering and buzzing about, Flint felt all the more naked, notwithstanding the fact that he was not technically wearing any clothes.

“Ah! You must be sir’s latest... art project!”

Flint whirled around to behold a short man with a shaved head and a devilish goatee, smiling benevolently at him.

“And you must be a fucking leprechaun?” Flint drew back.

“Muldoon,” the apparition pronounced with flare. “At sir’s service, and by extension yours. May I fetch you something to wear?”

“I have clothes,” Flint protested, looking around and praying for Silver to reappear and make the butler from Hell disapparate. Everything that he had been able to gleen about Muldoon leading up to this encounter only made him sound like some mystical creature, feral and terrifying.

“Then may I fetch you something else?” Muldoon inquired solicitously. “Poached egg? Banana cream pie? A wienerschnitzel?”

“ _Why_?”

“Sir usually dates the weird ones. You _are_ an artist, yes?”

“Y-yes…” Flint confessed, still not reassured. “Where the actual fuck is your _sir_?”

“Probably in the game room.”

“Game room,” Flint nodded. “Of course.” The baldheaded apparition neither moved nor flinched. “Where the fuck is that?”

“I’ll take you there presently.”

***

Silver had been sitting cross-legged on his meditation cushion, but he was most decidedly not meditating. To call what he’d been experiencing “monkey brain” was an honest to god insult to monkeys, who could not possibly have been as horny a species as implied by Silver’s current mindset. Normally, he would’ve loved nothing more than to shoot a few zombies before breakfast, but the full bodied satisfaction he’d felt from his night (and morning) with Flint did not leave any residual stress for him to relieve. So, meditating had seemed the next best, most wholesome life choice. Of course, each inhale brought with it memories of Flint’s cock sliding with divine precision in and out of him, and each exhale brought fantasies of new positions to be attempted when the heavenly act might happen again. They were yet to do it standing up, for example, or upside down, or up against the windows, or even…

“Ahem…”

“Nuisance, I’m trying to find some fucking Zen!” Silver snapped, keeping his eyes closed and desperately attempting to hold on to the flickering image of Flint’s wondercock in his mind’s eye.

“Terribly sorry, sir, but I found your fucktoy wandering around in a towel,” Muldoon declared and ushered Flint forward, using him as a sort of a human shield.

Silver rose from the cushion and glared at his unruly domestic. “Apologize to James, you little asshole.”

“Oh, thank god this one has a normal name!” the nuisance exclaimed, then bowed curtly at Flint. “My apologies, James. Enjoy the rest of your… ah… rendezvous.”

“You should definitely fire him,” Flint suggested immediately upon Muldoon’s departure. 

Silver pulled him in by the towel for a lazy kiss. “Mmm, wish that I could, except that he’s quite irreplaceable. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“He implied I’m apparently the latest in a long line of weirdos that you bring home,” Flint’s brow furrowed and his lower lip protruded out in an unmistakeable pout. Silver wanted desperately to kiss it away, so he did, sucking that plump lip into his mouth, and attempting to distract Flint from Muldoon’s fuckbaggery by whatever means necessary. “He offered me a wienerschnitzel,” Flint whispered, coming out of the kiss apparently still holding a grudge.

“Muldoon’s fine. Just a bit overprotective.”

“Of you?” Flint snorted. Silver decided to let that one go, for now. Flint looked deeply uncomfortable and profoundly beautiful, standing in his game room wearing nothing but that towel. It made Silver wonder where else he might look equally beautiful and for how long. “Anyways, I should…” Flint nodded his head towards the door.

“You don’t have to go,” Silver squeezed his fingers around Flint’s bicep. “Muldoon actually makes a kick-ass breakfast. Hang out for a bit, then I could call you a car to take you back home, if you must leave.”

Flint narrowed his eyes and pulled away, leaving Silver missing his body heat as soon as the touch of his skin was gone. “I do have work to do. Not all of us can live a life of thoughtless leisure, you know.”

It was Silver’s turn to frown. “ _Thoughtless_ leisure, is it? Just exactly how vapid do you think I am?”

“It’s not a personal indictment,” Flint shrugged, “just you one percenters are a cancerous blister on the ass of society, that’s all. It’s not your fault you were born to riches.”

“Oh and that wasn’t a personal indictment?” Silver would have laughed had he not wanted to punch Flint so much. “Well, my company employs twenty-five thousand workers in the New York Metropolitan area alone. That’s twenty-five thousand families benefiting from the financial perks that this cancerous blister’s company provides, just locally. What exactly is it that _you_ contribute to society, other than making people want to jump off a boat from looking at your paintings?”

It was difficult to appear dignified while wearing nothing but a towel, so Silver had to give Flint props for doing his best.

“Fuck. You,” was all Flint said.

“You. Wish,” Silver replied.

Flint turned his back to him and headed towards the door and Silver’s stomach dropped, followed immediately by the irrepressible desire to tear his own face off and then shit on it.

“James, wait!”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that, Highness,” Flint responded, not bothering to even face Silver. “You’re just gonna have to fuck yourself this time.”

The door to the game room slammed and from beyond it Silver heard Muldoon’s gleeful voice. “I fetched your clothes, James!”

***

Muldoon did hate to see his Idiot so mopey. Part of the fun of being John Silver’s “personal assistant” was attempting to navigate his every attention-deficit-driven whim and desire. When he’d entered Full Mope, all he wanted to do was nap and sigh pathetically while staring out the window. If Muldoon hadn’t been a consummate professional, his tender heart might actually melt. 

“Don’t let them see your weakness,” he muttered to himself as he approached Silver with a certain amount of internal trepidation. “Please, sir, tell me what I can do to pull you out of your funk?” he asked with a sigh. “I’m terrified you will waste away and then I shall no longer be quite gainfully employed.”

Silver turned in his bed, hair unkempt and tangled, eyes glazed over, mouth ajar with a dab of drool threatening to escape out of the corner. “Fix this for me,” he moaned with such pathos that Muldoon had to brace himself against an onslaught of genuine pity. “I fucked it all up, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not quite sure how _I_ can help you fix _it_.”

“I caught the feels for him, Muldoon,” his sweet Idiot moped, “like, genuine emotions.”

“Is sir sure it wasn’t just indigestion caused by his giant cock? Because I can fetch you another giant cock. Either attached or unattached to a human male, you just say the word, and I shall procure.”

“Maybe if I buy his building?” Silver asked, sitting up and rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. Oh no, he’d been crying? He’d been crying. This was unendurable. “Then he’d have to reckon with me, right?”

“If I may, sir…”

“Of course you may!”

“Perhaps, if your goal is to get back into Mr. Flint’s good graces, and consequently tight pants, your approach should be… less aggressive and more conciliatory?”

“Go on?”

Muldoon sighed. He could do this. Cleaning up Silver’s messes was literally his job. So what if this job now extended to saving his budding romances from going the way of the dinosaurs.

“First, sir has to admit that he was probably a giant ass…”

***

“I was not!” Flint stated with as much indignation as he could muster, while Eleanor refilled his wine glass.

“You probably were. I know you, James Flint. You’re stubborn and proud and prone to doomsday prophesying, which logically leads to self-fulfilling doom.”

“He told me once that I was married to my own misery,” Flint admitted, rubbing his forehead as if to dislodge the unwanted memory.

“And,” Eleanor continued her haranguing, “I’m extra pissed at you because you didn’t even try to stick it out! You could’ve at least milked it until he got you some kind of a client base, you idiot. Silver has amazing connections! You’re a starving artist!”

“I’m not _that_ starving,” Flint pointed out, patting his own belly which was admittedly getting a bit softer with age than he would’ve preferred. “I make my rent payments just fine.”

“That’s because I got that hotel to pay you for reproductions of _The Doldrums_ they ordered for all their remodeled rooms.”

“Yes, and thank you for that!”

“You would absolutely die if anything were to happen to me,” Eleanor shook her head and took a long gulp of her own wine. “Speaking of which…”

“Oh god, what now?”

“I have a gig for you, and you’re not allowed to say ‘no’, especially under your current circumstances.”

“Which are?”

“Patronless.”

Flint smirked. Patronless was just another word for single, as far as he was concerned, and he’d been that for many years and fine with it, thank you. John Silver could definitely suck it.

… _Oh god, could he ever_...

“Are you listening to me?” Eleanor snapped him out of his bitter remembrances. Flint nodded and swirled the wine in his glass with more wrist than was strictly necessary. “Jack Rackham wants you for a retrospective on Jan Porcellis. Something about a modern homage to a Renaissance master, yadda yadda, you’re doing it.”

“Rackham? Isn’t he a kind of a big deal?” Eleanor fixed him with a stony look. “All right, all right. I don’t trust this, but I’ll do it. For you.”

“You truly are the very picture of generosity,” she said with a grandiose eyeroll.

***

“It’s the art that leaves the mark but to leave it, it must transcend, it must speak for itself, it must be true.” 

Jack Rackham had been bloviating. Flint was rather used to this: the people in whose hands his livelihood often ended up spoke much more than was strictly to his liking. He should’ve learned better to smile and nod instead of sneer and frown, but well, a leopard couldn’t really change his freckles… spots.

He had managed to do a fairly decent job not offending anyone by the end of the evening and had ended up giving away more of his business cards than he had in quite some time. Apparently, there were still people living in New York who enjoyed a good seascape and even an occasional shipwreck (he’d definitely returned to painting _those_ in the recent days). 

The colors of his canvasses had been duller since he had walked out of Silver’s penthouse. He simply could not bear to reach for the hues again that might inadvertently remind him of Silver’s eyes. It wasn’t fair; they’d barely even gotten to know each other. How did that spoiled brat manage to get under Flint’s skin? What were a few weeks of courtship compared to the decade that Flint had spent in something close to self-imposed celibacy? 

“James Flint,” Rackham’s arm was suddenly around Flint’s shoulder. “You’re a difficult man to pin down. Glad you could join us tonight.”

“Thank you for having me?” Flint attempted in his most cordial tone. If Eleanor could see him now… Well, she’d likely puke, but also be proud of him. 

“Absolutely. Your work invokes the same quiet melancholy of the old Dutch Masters,” Rackham gestured expansively towards the two paintings Flint had selected for the show. “Both of these were sold tonight, you know. I’ll be mailing you a check next week.”

Flint choked, then coughed. “What… who… who bought them?”

“Well, two different patrons, in fact.”

Flint breathed a sigh of relief. There was at least a chance that one of them wasn’t John Silver.

“Come,” Rackham began to steer him down the corridor, away from the exhibition hall, and towards what looked like artists’ studios in the back. “I’d like you to meet one of the buyers.”

Flint broke out into a cold sweat. “Wait… I’m…”

“I absolutely insist.” Rackham’s hand on Flint’s back was relentless. “You know, I have found in my personal relationships, which - believe me - have been colorful, that sometimes people do not actually say what they feel?”

“Imagine that?” Flint scowled.

“In fact, sometimes they say the exact opposite of what they mean,” Rackham continued, undeterred by Flint’s sarcasm.

Flint gave his host half a smirk. “Back in my day, we just called that flirting.”

“Then you understand perfectly well what I must do.”

“Which is?”

“I will leave you two here to get to know each other better. Remember: communication is everything!” Rackham slapped Flint on his back and twirled out of the room.

The space in which Flint found himself had been scattered with blank canvases and art supplies in various states of disarray, like an enchanted forest through which he carefully waded until he reached a drawn velvet curtain on the opposite side of the room.

“John?” he spoke to the curtain after a sigh. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Draw the curtain and find out.”

At the sound of that voice, goosebumps exploded across Flint’s skin. He had almost forgotten how good Silver sounded, especially when he dropped his voice into that half-purr of his. He braced himself and drew the curtain away, exposing a narrow chaise longue on which Silver had been reclined, gloriously nude, with one arm thrown above his head, fingers dangling down with the cascade of his curls, a peaceful smile on his smug face.

“Paint me like one of your seascapes,” Silver whispered.

Flint couldn’t help but laugh. Then, he carefully placed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, to prevent from reaching out to touch the little shit. His exposed armpit alone was fucking enchanting.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I thought it was rather obvious,” Silver replied, not changing his position on the chaise longue. “I’m apologizing to you for being a gigantic ass.”

Flint rocked back and forth on his heels. “Go on?”

“I insulted you and I insulted your art, which is the most intimate extension of you,” Silver said. “And the truth is, I love your art. I don’t actually love the sea,” he added with a smile that was almost shy. “But I love the way you paint it. You make me fear it too, the power of it, how it can pull you under if you just allow it to. The truth is, I didn’t realize how much I loved it until it was gone.”

Flint could not meet Silver’s eyes so he fixed his gaze upon the dark hair encircling his rather comely cock instead. It seemed somehow safer.

“You have three of my paintings at home,” he spoke, having mulled Silver’s words over. “My art never left you.”

“It’s easier for me sometimes to speak in metaphors and express myself in grandiose gestures,” Silver admitted.

“I was an ass too,” Flint said somewhat grudgingly. “And I missed you,” he admitted, finally meeting Silver’s eyes. “I don’t know why I said what I said. I guess I was just feeling on edge and really insecure, so I lashed out at you. It’s no wonder you lashed out back.”

“Why were you feeling insecure?” 

Silver shifted on the chaise longue, propping his head up. His hair now spilled down his forearm. He looked good enough to paint, that’s for sure. He made Flint regret never getting that much practice with human subjects. 

“Oh come on, isn’t it obvious? You kept buying me things and treating me like some fucking king and I… there’s nothing I could give you in exchange.”

“Nothing?” Silver sat up. “I love you, you idiot. No one else can give me _that_.” Flint froze. His tongue lay limp and useless in his own mouth and Silver averted his eyes. “Too soon? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… When would it have been an appropriate time to tell you I love you?”

Flint dropped down to his knees and buried his face in Silver’s naked lap. “What a spectacularly crazy boy you are,” he sighed into the warm skin of Silver’s belly. His hands fit surprisingly well around the sharp curves of Silver’s hips.

Silver’s long fingers wound through Flint’s hair and above his head that soft half-purr beckoned, “I can’t help but want to treat you like a king. But we can be kings together, if you like.”

Flint laughed and blinked back tears that threatened to unman him then and there. He rose from his knees and cleared his throat. “So um… you really want me to paint you?”

“Would you rather just punch me with your cock?”

“Do not. Tempt. Me.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because,” Flint said, turning his back to Silver and wandering over to where a set of oils and a pallet set abandoned, “I haven’t decided whether I’m still mad at you.”

“You can’t stay mad at me, come on. I’m a hard man not to like.” There was a touch of wistfulness in his voice along with the usual note of cockiness. 

Flint quietly removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. The brushes looked like kolinsky sables, much finer than anything Flint kept at his own studio. He chewed his lips wondering if it was a gigantic waste of art supplies to use them for his intended purpose. 

“Are you going to do it?” Silver asked with hitching breath. Flint smiled to himself, his back still turned to Silver while he mixed the oils upon the pallet. “You _are_ , aren’t you?”

“Am I going to paint you like one of my seascapes?” Flint smirked, turning towards Silver and taking in the ridiculously arousing sight before him with an expert artist’s eye. “That is what you asked me to do, isn’t it?”

Silver’s pupils exploded in the sea of his irises. Flint approached him like a predator stalking his prey, and lowered himself onto his knees before the chaise longue.

“Get your arm out of the way,” he ordered and Silver bit his lip before obeying.

“Fuck…”

“Maybe later,” Flint said, setting his brush down against Silver’s unblemished skin. “If you make a passable canvas.” _Christ_ , how passable a canvas he made.

Silver closed his eyes and threw his head back against the armrest, his teeth worrying the tender skin of his lower lip. Flint drew the brush slowly across his skin, painting him into waves, blue like the color of his eyes, waves swelling across his chest, waves cresting over his abdomen, swirling around his bellybutton. Silver moaned softly underneath the strokes of Flint’s brush, his cock hardening more each time Flint chanced a glance at it. He went out of his way to avoid touching it until he had to move it out of his way with his wrist while painting a little seagull onto the jut of Silver’s naked hip.

“Fuck… _fuck_ , James!”

“Is that a request or an order?” Flint cocked a brow at Silver’s flushed face.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you,” Flint lied while he painted little anchors suspended from Silver’s perfectly perky nipples.

“Fuck, god damn! With your _hands_ , James!”

Beads of sweat were pooling over Silver’s brow and in between his collar bones.

“You’re a sight,” Flint declared, shifting back to take in his handiwork. “I had no idea you’d get off on being my canvas. Maybe one of these days I should use you as a table or some other inanimate object.”

Silver whined and lunged off the chaise longue, practically making love to the warm air around him. “Take off your fucking clothes and fuck me this instant, you fucking sadist.”

Flint chuckled, blending in a few more strokes right under Silver’s collar bones. “I need to take a picture of this first.” He set the pallet aside and rose to his feet, his joints complaining with gusto as they came unhinged.

“That better not end up on Twitter,” Silver narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

“Perfect, hold that expression,” Flint suggested as he snapped a few photos of his impermanent masterpiece. “Some of my finest work. Too bad it’s about to get ruined.”

***

Silver never knew he’d had the ocean inside him until Flint began to conjure the waves to the surface of his skin. It rose and bubbled and threatened to pour over, a veritable tsunami of desire that flooded his senses with each stroke of Flint’s brush. Silver had no idea that having nothing but Flint’s intense gaze on his body would be so intoxicating.

“Please, for fuck’s sakes,” Silver muttered, the sweat of self-restraint raining down his neck, mixing with the oils on his chest. “How hard do you need me to beg?”

Flint, the smug bastard, finally put his phone down and began to unbutton his shirt. It was all fine and well to take pride in one’s appearance and be careful with one’s clothes, in fact, normally Silver would’ve approved of Flint’s attire (although for the next show he’d insist on French cuffs), but not at the precise moment that his boner was going to poke a burning hole into a new dimension.

“In a minute, you horny bastard.”

“I’m naked and covered in paint…” It was infuriating that the situation needed any further explanation. It had been two weeks since Silver had been able to see and touch Flint’s cock. Two weeks during which he felt his will to live slowly wither away. It was uncanny.

After what felt like a century, Flint kicked his shoes and socks off and stepped out of his slacks, towering over Silver’s prone form like a column of freckles and smugness.

“Jesus, we’re going to make a huge mess,” Flint said, his eyes trailing down Silver’s body with the kind of hunger he’d been quite frankly hoping to elicit the entire time.

“Don’t worry about that,” Silver waved him off. “I’ll compensate Jack for everything. Get the fuck on me already.”

The way Flint had been looking at him, Silver expected to get pounced and pulverized. When instead Flint knelt by the chaise longue again and leaned over him, coaxing Silver into a gentle kiss, a full body shiver galloped through Silver’s limbs and he melted. And then, Flint’s body was over his, on top of him, pressing into the oils, hands spreading the waves across his ribs and onto his back, leaving palm prints in blues and greens all over his thighs and his ass.

They slid against each other in a whirl of color. Silver left his own fingerprints on Flint’s face as he pulled him closer, sucking down his tongue and letting his own jaw hang lax while Flint dragged his tongue over his as if trying to fuck his mouth into submission. The ocean had spilled over from Silver’s body onto Flint’s and the seagulls had all been spooked off his hip, wiped away by trails of wandering, hungry fingers.

“Have you done this before?” Silver whispered into the scorching heat of Flint’s mouth.

“Exactly this? No.”

“Good.”

Flint’s cock was finally pressed against his own, hot and heavy and wonderfully familiar as Silver wrapped his hand around both their lengths, smearing paint there too.

“Paint is oil-based, right?” Silver panted, thrusting up into his own hand, up against Flint’s cock, up against the pleasing heaviness of his body. 

“We’re not using paint… as lube…” Flint gasped, his face buried in Silver’s neck, which remained somehow the one part of him unblemished with smeared waves.

“Were you always no fun, or was it a gradual onset with age?” Silver sniped, attaching his teeth to the thick column of Flint’s neck and stifling his moans into it.

One of Flint’s hands was firmly attached to Silver’s ass, pressing their groins impossibly closer together. “Careful, pup. I haven’t decided if I’ve forgiven you yet,” Flint growled and caught Silver’s lips with his own.

Their bodies unbalanced and finally rolled onto the floor with a loud thud. Paint tubes and canvases went flying across the floor. “Jesus!” Flint exclaimed, but Silver pulled him back down to claim his mouth before he could get too distracted by the waste of art supplies. Silver rolled them until he was the one straddling Flint’s hips, thighs clutched tightly on either side, hands planting colorful prints into the matted hair of Flint’s chest.

“You really thought I’d come here unprepared for all eventualities?” Silver smirked and reached under the chaise longue, producing a tube of lube from underneath.

“You’re such a boy scout,” Flint huffed out as he pulled Silver back over him and pressed his fingers against his opening. “Always prepared.” Silver whimpered and attempted to find what was left of his brain cells, squeezing the lube into Flint’s free hand.

“Come on, then. Fuck me until you forgive me,” he breathed out against Flint’s earlobe and then bit it for good measure.

They’d started out with Silver riding Flint, grinding his hips down almost furiously while Flint’s cock stretched him open from below. But before long, Silver found himself on his knees, with Flint pressing into his back from behind, straddling his hips and pistoning his cock mercilessly into him, fucking him both deep and wide. Silver’s shaking arms barely supported him, but luckily Flint’s arms had been right there, wrapped tightly across his chest, holding him close. Silver keened, his thighs spreading wider to take more of Flint’s cock into him, even though each slap of Flint’s balls against his own told him they’d reached terminal depth. He needed _more_. His arm wrapped up and behind his own neck to grasp onto the luxurious, thick locks of auburn hair.

“God, _fuck me_.”

“What does it feel like I’m doing?”

“I need you to come inside me.”

He was somehow unconcerned that Flint could’ve gone off with someone else in the couple of weeks that they had not spoken. He supposed this was what trust felt like and another shiver trickled down through all his limbs, starting at the pulse of his neck where Flint’s mouth was pressed.

“You’re beautiful,” Flint whispered against the shell of his ear.

Silver twisted and turned, laying his back down against the floor and spreading his thighs, pulling Flint back inside him without any effort at all. Their sweat mixed with the paint and Flint’s face in particular appeared streaked in blues like some kind of a Pict warrior.

“I love you,” Silver repeated, wrapping his arms around Flint’s neck. It was all right; he did not need to hear it back. His own father certainly never bothered with such maudlin declarations, instead choosing to share his affections in more meaningful ways, such as by leaving everything to Silver upon his death. In response, Flint moaned like a dying man, followed by the stuttering of his hips, and then the warmth of him flooding Silver from the inside. “Yes… oh, fuck yes…” Silver clenched down over his pulsating cock and dissolved into the subsuming waves of his own orgasm.

The aftershocks took some time to fade. Their bodies were glued to each other by paint and their own emissions. Flint’s hand gently stroked Silver’s hair, occasionally getting tangled in the uncombed curls as they spilled across the floor. Flint’s breath still settled like morning mist against his neck. Silver’s thighs ached but he would’ve rather died than unclasp them from around Flint’s hips.

“How do you even know Jack Rackham?” Flint muttered into Silver’s neck, cutting through his post-coital haze like a knife.

“He was a couple of years ahead of me at the Sorbonne,” Silver replied, attempting a subtle one armed stretch.

“Sorbonne? Ooh la la! Look who’s not just a pretty face,” Flint chuckled, nuzzling gently against Silver’s jaw.

Silver twisted his body until they lay on their sides, facing each other. “Do you forgive me?” he asked, thumb tracing the softness of Flint’s lower lip. It too had streaks of blue on it.

“Of course I forgive you, Highness,” Flint replied with a shaking exhale. “I love you too, you know.”

Silver closed his eyes and burrowed into the solid warmth of Flint’s body. “Then that should be enough, right?”

It was a terribly naive thing to say. And Silver knew, for all his apparent youth and privileged upbringing, that love was not necessarily enough. Sometimes it wasn’t even _de minimus_ , sometimes you were lucky enough to just have had it at all.

Which was why when Flint said, “Yeah, baby, sure it’s enough,” he let a tear escape while he buried his face in Flint’s chest. But just the one. They’d made enough of a mess already.


End file.
